Lesser of Two Evils
by casploding
Summary: Raphael (season six) goes back in time and makes a pact with Azazel that results in Sam's death on the same night as Mary Winchester. Castiel finds Dean and tries to persuade him to help set things right.
1. Something's Not Right

**SUPERNATURAL AND THE CHARACTERS REPRESENTED WITHIN THIS FANFIC ARE NOT MY PROPERTY. THE SHOW WAS CREATED BY ERIC KRIPKE AND BELONGS TO A BIG CORPORATION, i.e. NOT ME. THANK YOU. ENJOY.**

There was a cold wind blowing that night, and Dean wished he'd brought his jacket. He rubbed his jaw and stared out the windshield at the dark street and the large white house up ahead. They were all large and white in this neighborhood, and Dean was honestly surprised the whole neighborhood wasn't gated. He glanced at the pizza box in the passenger seat, and pried it open one last time, as if he didn't know he'd finished the last piece an hour ago. It was empty, nothing but crumbs.

Dean looked up, past the hood of the Impala. No movement yet. Just like the last few hours. He debated getting a bag of chips from the backseat. Wait, what was that? He squinted into the darkness between two houses. A flash of dark movement, going straight for House Zero.

"Gotcha, you son of a bitch," Dean growled. He got out of the driver's seat and went round to the back of the sleek black Impala. He popped the trunk and propped it open with a sawed-off shotgun before taking a good look at the formidable array of weapons inside. He grabbed a machete quickly before shutting the trunk again. He had holy water and a pistol with silver bullets, if it got to that point. But he was pretty sure this was a lone vampire, a rogue who had been forced to go on a killing spree in a big city for lack of other options. It was a fool move to leave the nest if you were a vampire. This one must have done something extra horrible to piss off the other vamps.

"Ah, whatever," sighed Dean before jogging off across the street. This vampire had an interesting way of choosing his victims, a complicated formula. Nothing a little research on graphs couldn't handle, of course. And this was Ground Zero.

Dean ducked into the long shadows between the two houses where he had seen his target move in a blur of motion. He shifted his grip on the machete in his right hand; the vamp would no doubt smell him before he ever got to sneak up on him. In Dean's experience, he thought it wise always to prepare for the worst.

Because the worst was all he'd ever gotten in life, so why should Fate change her mind now?

Dean saw the half-open fence door and sidled into the backyard and past the A/C unit. He looked out across the treeless, moonlit, suburban lawn. And there was no one there.

Dean frowned. Where the hell was the vamp? He glanced from side to side, suspicious of any slight rustle of grass in the wind. There was no way this was going to go down smoothly.

Dean broke his pause and strode quickly across the lawn to the patio. The back door was shut, but when he tried the knob it swung open easily. This was obviously a trap.

Dean flicked on his flashlight and peered in through the doorway. Nobody immediately inside, as far as he could tell. This was nothing but bad. How was this even good?

Dean backed away for a second. He couldn't just go charging in there without someone to back him up. It was obviously a trap. He had to make a call first.

Dean flicked off his flashlight and walked away from the back door and going around once more into the alley. He kept himself highly alert as he did so, and still held his machete at his side. He fumbled for his phone, flipped it open, and speed-dialed.

**...**

**...**

**...**

"_Hello?"_

"Hey dad, it's me. I found our vamp, I'm at his house now, but something's up. I don't like it."

_"What do you mean?"_

"I mean I think I'm walking straight into a trap. He left the backdoor unlocked."

_"Where are you now?"_

"I'm right outside House Zero, I'm, like, 99 percent sure he's in there right now waiting to jump me."

_"Get back to the Impala, then."_ Dean's dad's voice sounded slightly concerned. _"Drive away. If he came back home tonight, it means he's not going to go out again. Take him in the daylight tomorrow."_

"Okay, good idea," replied Dean. "Thanks."

He took a step forward and dove to the ground, face first. The phone and machete went flying from his hands. "I've got you, little hunter," hissed the soothing voice of Dean's quarry.

Dean grunted and tried to roll over, but a strong firm grip on the back of his neck and a boot in the back prevented him from doing so. Dean realized he had to go limp. There was nothing he could do now except hope he didn't get turned. "The hell are you waiting for?" he grunted.

"Hush," whispered the vampire. Dean was able to turn his face and see a thin hand pick up the flip phone lying in the grass. "This is Mallory Sloan, _Daddy_. I'm a powerful creature, and I have your son. You have forty-eight hours to bring me everything I need, or I gut your little boy here. I'll text you details in a little while. Goodbye."

Dean heard the flip phone slap shut, and the last thing he felt was a powerful blow to the head.


	2. Fate and a Demon

**Supernatural and the characters of Supernatural are not my property, etc. Here's chapter 2.**

**P.S. I know that if Sam hadn't been alive, then Dean would never have gone back in time and made John choose the Impala, but I'm keeping it in because I like it. So there.**

Castiel stood in a gas station parking lot, keeping watch for a demon. His long trench coat flapped in the wind. The rank smell of gasoline hung in the air. Castiel searched the people on the sidewalk with his vigilant eyes. None of them were demons.

"Castiel."

He turned and saw a sharply dressed woman holding a book and a clipboard. "Fate," he muttered. "What is it that you want?" He eyed her suspiciously, like an antelope watching a nearby lion.

"Something has been set off balance. A life that should not have been taken, was taken," said Fate. "I don't know the full extent of it, but I do know that it was Raphael who did it."

"Raphael? Why?"

Fate bit her lip. "This is going to be hard to explain in person," she said. She put forward the book, thrusting it into Castiel's hands. "Read, Castiel."

Castiel opened the book to where it was marked.

_Sam Winchester, dead. Azazel & Raphael. Unintended._

"Sam…Winchester?" asked Castiel.

"Yes," replied Fate. "Now read how many lives are lost as a result."

Castiel browsed the long list. It was mostly people who had been killed by supernatural forces, like ghosts or wendigos, or shapeshifters, but then the list got stranger. It started telling who had _not_ died, and Castiel found that once he got forward into the list it got very unnatural.

"Yuriel? And…Anna?" he asked. He frowned. "She would have died if this Sam Winchester had not been killed? And why does it say Sam Winchester was killed by both Raphael _and_ Azazel? Are you trying to imply that the archangel Raphael would betray our cause?" He glared down at Fate. "Are you lying to me?"

"No," said Fate. "Let me show you what needs to happen."

Castiel drew his dagger and backed away from Fate. "Get away from me."

"Just let me show you, Castiel. I won't hurt you." She stepped forward and reached up, placing her hand on his forehead.

Castiel fell to the ground, his head splitting with the rush of images, of memories of what had really happened. Lilith, Lucifer, Michael, the apocalypse, Death and the other horsemen, Crowley, and…Raphael.

Castiel gasped as his memories fully returned to him. He staggered to his feet and said, "I need to find Raphael."

"No," said Fate. "You're not strong enough to stop him now. You need to alter things again, change it back to the way it was."

"But you…will become obsolete," said Castiel. "Why do you want this?"

"I am not a god," said Fate. "I merely make sure that what needs to happen does. I don't get to decide things for myself. I obey natural law along with my sisters." She sighed. "Look, Castiel, I wish I could leave things the way they are, but I'm not allowed to. I have to warn you so that you can change things back. Find Dean. Go back. Stop Raphael. And then wipe his memory of this whole incident afterwards, because the memory of living a lifetime without his brother will torture him. Especially since his father will be gone. Don't tell him that part, won't you, dear?"

"But…you yourself said I am not powerful enough to defeat Raphael." Castiel looked up into the sky. "How will I be able to stop him from killing Sam?"

"You'll have Dean with you," replied Fate. She smirked. "As much as I hate you guys, I have to say you make a really good team."

Castiel nodded. "I understand. Thank you, Atropos."

Fate sighed. "No problem." And then she was gone.

Castiel left his post. The demon he had been waiting for walked free.

Castiel arrived in a dark suburban neighborhood. He was standing beside the empty Impala. He leaned down and glanced inside. A dejected pizza box lay in the passenger seat. "So that's how you replaced Sam. With food," Castiel murmured. He stood at full height once more. "I should have known."

Castiel sensed that Dean was still inside the house. But not just Dean...a monster, as well.

"Hey, Castiel."

Castiel whirled round. "What, Crowley? Shouldn't you be watching a crossroads for potential victims?"

"You could say it was my day off," chuckled Crowley.

"Wait, do you…remember?" asked Castiel. It was the only possible explanation, really. The way Crowley just popped in to see him, the jovial manner in which he chatted him up.

"Ding ding, the angel gets it," confirmed Crowley. "Now listen, you're going to set things right again, aren't you?"

Castiel was about to say yes, but then he paused. A small bit of doubt gnawed at him. Was it worth it, to save Sam? He couldn't help but think of his garrison, of Anna, of all the problems he had caused. But then, he had his cause. To stop Raphael. The archangel was corrupt and had to be destroyed.

And then there was Crowley. He wouldn't need a demon to help him if he let Sam die. But Sam was Sam…

"Uh, Cas?" asked Crowley.

"Oh, yes," said Castiel, snapping out of his thought. "I'll save Sam Winchester. We still have a deal."

"Do we?" asked Crowley. "You seem awfully hesitant there, Cas. Is everything all right?"

"Yes," said Castiel. "Why wouldn't it be all right?" He stepped forward, glaring down at Crowley. "Do not question me, petty demon." A flash of lightning appeared, and Castiel let his wings show, huge dark shadows behind him. He drew his dagger. "Get thee behind me, demon."

"Quoting the Bible now, are we, Castiel?" asked Crowley, apparently unintimidated by Castiel's impressive show of force. The angel raised his hand, but then Crowley wasn't there.

"All right," said Crowley. Castiel turned and saw the demon once more. "I'm behind you," said Crowley. "It's what you wanted, isn't it? Yeah, why don't you calm down a bit, darling? Just consider your options, really. I have quite a posse that I can pursue you with. You've just got yourself, Dean Winchester, and John Winchester. Not to mention that Azazel, Alastair, all those bad boys are still alive, and as soon as you start messing with time, they're going to want to know why. In this world you don't have nearly as much power as you did. If you betray my deal, one of us will find you and kill you forever."

"Will you now?" asked Castiel. He smirked. "Leave. I've got business to take care of."

Crowley shrugged. "So be it then." The demon vanished.


	3. The Unfortunate Fate of Mallory Sloan

**Disclaimer: Supernatural and its characters are not my property, etc.**

**Enjoy.**

Dean woke with a hazy memory of what had happened. He slowly opened his eyes and saw the room in front of him. He was tied down to a chair in a bare garage. The floor was darkly stained with what Dean could only assume was blood. The garage was dimly lit by a single bulb on the ceiling. Dean looked up and saw his captor through waves of pain racking his head.

"You're a fine catch, my friend," hissed Mallory Sloan.

The vampire was tall and slender, wearing a plain grey shirt and jeans. His eyes were sharp like knives, and his gaunt face seemed almost hollow except for that fact.

Dean grunted as another onslaught of pain hit his skull. He gritted his teeth and looked back up at his captor. "Go to hell, man," he said.

"Actually, I think you'll find that it's _you_ who will be heading there shortly."

"I thought you were going to ransom me or something," said Dean.

The vampire laughed. His laugh was thin, cracked, and spidery, like old fragile glass. "Oh no, my friend. I have..._much _more ambitious plans than that. You see, I sent your daddy off on a milk run. He's getting me some fresh blood packs even now. And once he comes and tries to trade for you with the blood he's brought me, I'll just take both of you and the blood. I find double-crossing my enemies to be very productive."

"Oh yeah? Is that why your nest threw you out? Because you weren't trustworthy?"

"No, no, they didn't kick me out," said Mallory Sloan, smirking. Dean couldn't imagine what was so funny. The vampire chuckled. "No, I slaughtered my fellow nesters. Those little insignificant runts, could barely hold their own. No, they were only taking up resources."

"So, you're pack leader, huh?" asked Dean.

"I was."

"Good to know," said Dean. He wondered where his knife was. If he could get to it, then he could saw off these ropes and finish this once and for all.

"I took your knife from you, if you're wondering where that is," said Mallory. "I'm not stupid, you know. But then again, how were you to know that, little hunter mine? You've seen plenty of stupid before in your hunting experience. I have no doubt about that. Other so-called 'monsters' do tend to be so unreasonably daft. But you'll find me, I hope, a tad different."

Dean chuckled and spat in the vampire's general direction. "No, we'll gank you just like we've done everything else we've come across."

"You've got heart," said the monster. "But you're the one tied up. I'm in control over your fate."

The door slammed open behind Dean. "Interesting choice of words," rumbled a deep-throated, powerful voice. Dean craned his neck and saw a man with dark hair, wearing a long trench coat and holding some sort of silver knife in his hand.

"Wh-who are you?" Mallory sounded terrified. Dean stared, wide-eyed, as the man walked forward. Mallory seemed frozen to the spot. The stranger reached out and touched the vampire's forehead, and Mallory Sloan dropped to the ground.

"I am Castiel, an angel of the Lord," said the man in the trench coat. He raised a hand, and Dean felt his ropes suddenly loosen.

"No such thing as an angel," said Dean. "What the hell are you?"

Castiel—if that was his real name—frowned. "I...just told you," he said, squinting at Dean like he was stupid or something. "An angel. Look, I don't have time to go through all this again, Dean. Where's Sam?"

Dean blinked. "Sorry, who?" How did this stranger know his name, and why was he talking about...Sam? Did he mean-?

"Your brother," sighed Castiel. "He's not here, is he?"

"No, he died," said Dean. "How do you know all this stuff about me?"

Castiel sheathed his blade inside his coat. "I can show you, but I doubt you trust me enough to let me touch you, after what I did to him." With a tilt of his head he indicated the dead body of the vampire, Mallory Sloan.

"Yeah, no joke," said Dean. He got up, shrugging off the loosened ropes. He patted his pocket, and then he realized the vampire had taken his phone. "Where's my cell phone?" he muttered. He looked around the garage and finally saw it, along with his machete and pistol, lying on a table in the corner. He crossed the room and grabbed his stuff, but when he turned around he raised his gun, pointing it at the "angel."

Castiel chuckled. "You probably think you can hurt me with that, don't you?"

"Silver bullets. It's worth a shot," Dean growled. "Now you're going to sit in that chair over there and tell me everything you know about me."

Castiel sighed. "No," he said. And then, right in front of Dean's eyes, he vanished. Not in some flash of light, he just disappeared with a slight muffled rustling noise.

A hand shot out from behind Dean and pulled the pistol from his hands, tossing it across the room. Dean felt Castiel grab him with superhuman strength and pin him against the wall.

Dean grunted, lashing out at him with his legs. Castiel didn't even bat an eyelash, but raised his other hand and gripped his forehead. "Calm down, Dean. I'm going to show you what's happened."

Dean blinked and then remembered everything. "What the hell?" he grunted. "Cas?"

The angel let him down, and Dean raised a hand to his forehead. "What happened? Where's Sam? How is this possible? And Dad..." Dean blinked again and felt his face stretch into an expression of shock and surprise. "Dad!" he exclaimed. "I've gotta find him, talk to him..." He looked up at Castiel. "Dad must be worried sick."

"Listen, Dean—" Castiel began.

Dean fumbled for his cell phone and flipped it open. He dialed his father.

...

...

...

"_Dean? Is that you?"_

"Yeah, Dad, it's me." Dean felt giddy and light-headed, as if he was tripping on something. "Where are you?"

"_Thank God, Dean. Are you okay?"_

"Yeah, I'm fine," said Dean. "I got free and killed the vamp." He looked up at Castiel, nodding and winking. The angel looked less than pleased with that description of events. "Look, Dad, why don't we meet up?"

"_All right, we'll meet at your motel," _replied John Winchester's voice.

Dean ended the call and looked up at Castiel. "Let's go," he said.

"Dean..."

"What, Cas?" snapped Dean. "Nature is out of balance? We can't go see my dad because we've got better things to do? He's my _dad,_ Cas. I need to see him again."

"It doesn't matter whether you see him or not. You're not going to remember this after we're done. This is an alternate reality. Once we set things back to the way they were, you're not going to remember a thing."

"It doesn't matter. I'm going to meet him at the motel. Then and only then we decide what to do next."

"I know exactly what we need to do next," said Castiel. "We have to go back to the night your parents died, and we have to stop Azazel from killing Sam as well as your mother. Raphael will be there as well."

"Well, that's just great. Anything you want to add?"

"Well, I was going to ask if you really _want_ to go back to the way things were."

"With Sam? In a heartbeat. I just gotta see my dad first." Dean shrugged and left, not waiting for Cas to catch up. He went back out onto the street and got into the car. He stared over at the empty passenger seat. "Damn it Sam, I wish you were here," he muttered. He turned the key in the ignition and drove back to the motel. Castiel's question plagued his mind the whole way. He was trading Sam's life for his dad's, but at the same time, it was nice. Not to have to worry about the apocalypse and Raphael and heaven and hell as much as he used to. Plus, a bunch of people had probably been saved by Sam not being around any more.

Dean put in some AC/DC and forgot about that kind of thought for a little while. _I'll figure it out later._


	4. Anna

**Disclaimer: Supernatural and its characters are not mine.**

Castiel stood inside the house, contemplating what he should do next. If Fate found out that he was conspiring against her, that he wanted it to stay this way, then more than just all hell would break loose upon him. He needed a weapon to stop Fate. He needed Balthazar.

But in this universe, who knew whether or not Balthazar even had the weapon. He couldn't be sure. And if he just asked Balthazar if he had it, then the rest of heaven's legions, especially Raphael, would start to get curious.

He already had demons to deal with. He didn't need yet another problem.

Castiel stepped over the body of the vampire and back into the house. Maybe he could rely on Anna? She had contemplated rebellion in the real timeline; maybe she could be of assistance now?

"Anna. I need you." Those simple words seemed powerless coming from the mouth of his human vessel, but in his mind he was uttering the gravest of Enochian distress signals. He waited patiently, but Anna did not come. Castiel hoped that Raphael wasn't listening too closely or he would begin to suspect his knowledge of the rift in the timeline.

Castiel felt a presence manifest behind him. "Hello, Anna."

"Castiel. Why have you called me here?"

"Anna, I have a problem. With...Raphael."

"What? What do you mean, Castiel?"

"Do you ever...think...that maybe we shouldn't be following orders so obediently, that we must decide right and wrong for ourselves?"

"You mean, rebellion?"

"Yes. Rebellion, like Gabriel rebelled. I must show you something." Castiel hesitated, though. He realized that he would be showing her a reality in which she had died long ago. "Perhaps not," he muttered.

"Show me, Castiel."

Castiel wasn't so sure this was a good idea anymore. After all, she had betrayed him. She had betrayed the Winchesters. "Castiel," Anna continued, "whatever it is, I will understand. We've been through much together."

"Yes, but this—" Castiel found that he couldn't talk any more. He made up his mind, turned around, and touched her forehead. He flooded his memories through the boundaries between his mind and hers.

Anna's body trembled and shook. She did not fall; she was much stronger than Castiel had been. But it still took a toll on her body. Castiel found himself pondering how Dean Winchester had been able to take it so easily. Perhaps it was because he could not fully comprehend the gravity of such a revelation. Humans, such simple creatures, and yet so complex.

Anna pulled away from him. "What? I betrayed you?"

"Yes, and you died for it," replied Castiel. "But Anna, listen to me, I don't want that to happen."

"Fate will find a way to set things right, Castiel," said Anna. "I will die. Why did you show me that?"

"Because I need you to help me, Anna. I forgive you for any actions you may have done in that other reality. I need the weapon to kill Fate, so that I can save you."

"Of course, Castiel," said Anna. "I'll give you anything you need."

"I want to save you, I feel like I _need_ to save you—"

"It's called love, Castiel," said Anna. She reached up and wrapped her arms around him, pulling him into a tight, graceful kiss.

When she pulled away, she said, "I'll get the weapon, Castiel. But if anyone discovers this..."

"Don't worry," replied Castiel. "Raphael wants Fate dead too."

Dean pulled into the motel parking lot and immediately noticed that something was up. His dad's truck was there, but the headlights were on and the driver's side door was wrenched open.

Dean pulled up and got out of the car. He took his pistol and machete with him, walking over to the truck. His father wasn't in there, but Dean saw dark stains of blood on the seat.

"Damn it." Dean went over to the door of the motel room and unlocked it. He pushed it wide open and burst into the room, gun raised. He swept every corner of the room. Nothing.

"He's not here, darling," said a menacing and all too familiar voice.

"Crowley." Dean turned around to see the king of hell standing in the doorway.

"Dean." Crowley smirked. "Nice to see you. Now listen, your dad's not here. I can show you a picture of his dead body, though. If you like."

"What?" Dean snarled. He stepped forward. "What did you do?"

"Oh, relax, it's over. I didn't make him suffer, I didn't taunt him, I just—" Crowley snapped his fingers. "Killed him."

"Why?"

"Because I want things to go back to the way they were _before_ Raphael started screwing with time. I want you to convince Castiel to change things back to the way they were. Because I just killed your family here, so your only family is back in the right timeline, where Sam is still living and breathing."

"You're not king of hell any more, are you?" asked Dean.

Crowley smirked. "No, actually. Just king of the crossroads again. And Azazel and Alastair and all those good chaps are running around doing whatever they want, whenever they want."

"You think that you can just kill my dad and get off the hook for it?" growled Dean.

"Well," Crowley replied, "he did sell his soul to Azazel in the first place."

"This was different and you know that," said Dean. "I'm not going to do anything you tell me to do."

"I know," said Crowley. "But it's good old-fashioned common sense. Your life is worse here than it was back there. You still had family in the old timeline. Now you've got nothing, Dean. I mean, just look at you."

"This wasn't for you to decide," said Dean.

"Oh, but it was, and you want to know why? Because it affected _me,_ Dean! It's destroyed my career! All you got was a lousy trade: a brother for a father. On another note, I'm doing what Fate wants! Things have to go back to the natural order, or this world will crash and burn. You just watch."

Crowley disappeared. Dean walked out and turned off the truck, slamming the door closed.


	5. To Bobby's

Dean Winchester stared out the windshield down the dark highway. Rain pattered lightly against the Impala, and every few seconds, the wipers lazily moved across the screen. The soft roar of the Impala's engine comforted Dean in spite of Crowley's recent revelation.

_Dad's dead._

Dean wondered where the hell Castiel was. _Sure could use his help._

He'd been pondering what Crowley said. Unfortunately, the two-faced, silver-tongued son of a bitch was right. Dean had to restore things to the way they were. In order to do that, he had to summon Fate herself. If Castiel were here, Dean could do that a lot faster.

Dean saw the clouds begin to lighten as the sun rose. The rain began to fade away, and the clouds parted. The sun's light shone through the treetops.

"Cas..." Dean muttered. "Where are you? I thought you said we needed to fix this. Together."

No answer. Just the sound of the engine. Dean popped in some Metallica to ease the silence and kept driving. To Bobby's, then. He needed a spell.

Fire plumed into the air, knocking over several wooden walls in a huge explosion of gas. A deafening sound blew through the air. Bobby popped out his used casings and reloaded his shotgun, approaching the rubble of the cabin. He stepped through the gaping hole in the side wall, searching the small house.

He came to the basement stairwell and peered into the blackness below. "Balls," he muttered. He raised his head and yelled, "Rufus! Get over here!"

The other hunter stepped through the wreckage.

"He's down below," Bobby growled. "Cover my six."

He stepped down the stairs, going slowly. Caution was of the essence.

Bobby squinted down the stairwell into the darkness of the basement. He shuffled down to the bottom of the stairway and swiveled to the left, scanning the darkness of the room. While holding his shotgun with his right hand, his left snaked down to his belt. He grabbed his flashlight.

_Click._ Light.

A snarl erupted from the shadows. Something jumped out and tackled Bobby to the ground. The flashlight and the shotgun went spinning across the floor as the monster beat at him. Bobby struggled against it, raising his arms to stop it from clawing off his face. It growled and snarled and beat at him.

A loud shot threw the room into silence. Bobby heaved the limp body of the monster to the side and lifted himself up off the floor.

Bobby grunted and walked over to grab his shotgun and flashlight. "Took your damn time, Rufus," he growled. "That wolfman nearly had me."

Rufus chuckled. "A thank you for saving your sorry ass wouldn't go amiss, Bobby. Better late than never."

Bobby shook his head and looked down at the corpse. "Well, let's get rid of Shaggy here and head back into town." His cellphone started ringing. He took it out of his pocket and looked at the screen. "It's Dean Winchester. I should take this."

Rufus grimaced. "I'll dispose of the body by myself, then."

Bobby answered and trotted up the stairs.

_"Bobby? I'm at your place. Where are you?"_

"A few hours away," Bobby answered. "Why?"

_"I need a summoning spell, and I think you could maybe help me out. It's a big complicated deal, you wouldn't want the details. How fast can you get back here?"_

"The key's underneath the gnome. I'll be there in three hours. Let yourself in, but don't you dare touch my stuff."

_"Yeah. See you, Bobby."_

Bobby looked down the stairs. "Sorry, Rufus, I've gotta split," he yelled. "Dean Winchester needs my help as soon as possible."

"As soon as possible, my ass," Rufus grunted, lugging the body to the foot of the stairwell. "You're helping me out first, Bobby, don't you dare think of shirking your end of the work."

"Oh, balls," Bobby sighed. "Give me one end, I'll help."

Dean opened the front door to Bobby's place. He was thinking of all the crap that had rained down in his original life: all the lives spent in the damn apocalypse, all the people who could have had lives who were just gone now.

His thoughts landed specifically on one man: Adam Milligan. Dean wondered if he could reach him. Just get hold of him somehow, tell him...

_Tell him what? I'm sorry? Sounds like something Sam would say._

Dean didn't know what to think about the whole deal. On the one hand, he needed his brother. On the other hand, Sam's very existence had caused a lot of hurt. What would Sam want him to do?

_This isn't the way it's supposed to be. Raphael messed with the time-space continuum, or whatever._The world needed some _Star Trek IV _action, whether or not more lives were saved that way.

Dean stepped into Bobby's house, closing the door behind him. He plopped down on the couch and fell asleep while waiting for Bobby.


	6. Plotting Against Fate

**DISCLAIMER: SUPERNATURAL AND ITS CHARACTERS ARE NOT MINE.**

"You want to summon Fate? What kind of fool move is _that,_ Dean? Fate could mop the floor with you, even if a summoning did work!"

Dean faltered. "Well, I-"

"What the hell are you thinkin', boy? I want to know what this job of yours is, and now," Bobby growled.

Dean put down his beer. "It's complicated, Bobby. I don't want to get you involved." He frowned. "Look, could you just do the research? I know how to take care of myself, Bobby. If there's something that needs ganking, I gank it."

"So you're gonna kill Fate, is that it?" Bobby scoffed. "Dean, what the hell does your father think?"

"My father doesn't have anything to do with this, Bobby! Don't you drag him into this. I'm not going after Fate to kill her, I'm just trying to make a deal with her, that's all. I need some help."

"What case are you working, Dean?" Bobby ran a hand through his hair. "Why do you need the help of a near all-powerful entity from a whole 'nother realm? What's going on?"

"Bobby!" Dean growled. "Get me the damn spell. I told you once, and i'm gonna tell you again: it's complicated!"

Bobby shook his head. "Don't speak to me like that, boy. Tell me or get out."

Dean stared him down for a long silent moment. "Fine then," he said. "I'm leaving." He got up from the table and headed for the door.

"Dean, what's so important you can't tell _me?!"_

Dean turned around. "You wouldn't believe me if I tried to explain. I'm going to find a friend."

He left, slamming the door behind him, and walked out to the Impala. Its sleek top glared blindingly at Dean in the harsh sunlight. He got into the driver's seat and slammed the door. "Castiel, where the hell did you go? I need you."

()

"Castiel, are you all right?"

"Yes, Anna. It's just-I haven't been to a peaceful heaven in years." Castiel looked out upon the golden plains of his native realm. The sun glimmered in the distance, bathing the perfect crops of wheat in pleasant light. Castiel and Anna stood up on a hill, looking out over the scene. A small cabin stood out by the fields of waving wheat, where a colonist from the 1600's spent his eternity. Castiel breathed in the fresh air of the scene, gazing in wonder at his home. He could see its essence, far beyond its appearance. He could comprehend its deep inner beauty.

"It is wonderful," said Anna. "And once we finish this business, we can keep heaven like this for the rest of time."

Castiel felt a twinge of doubt. "Anna, I'm not sure..."

She glanced sharply over at him. "What is there to be unsure about, Castiel? This is the way the world should be. At peace. We just need to kill Atropos and stop her from returning everything to normal."

Castiel nodded in response. Internally, however, he was still doubtful of his new cause. He felt Dean call out to him again, desperately this time. _Castiel, where the hell did you go?_

He smiled sadly. Dean couldn't understand. This was a better world. No apocalypse, no war in heaven, just the natural order playing out. Castiel felt saddened by Sam's loss as well, but in the end Raphael had made the right choice.

_I need you._

Castiel shut out Dean's cries for help. "So, where are we meeting Balthazar?"

Anna shrugged. "He said he would contact us when he had retrieved the blade."

"How?" Cas asked.

"He's sending Ezekiel. However, do not mention this matter to Ezekiel. Balthazar wants his role in this to be discreet."

"That is understandable," said Castiel.

The flutter of dark wings heralded Ezekiel's arrival, a few moments later. He merely said, "Underwood, North Dakota. Balthazar will meet you now." He turned and left.

Anna smiled. "Are you ready, Castiel?"

Castiel nodded.

They flew from heaven down to earth.

Underwood, North Dakota was a small town, with only about a thousand inhabitants. They met in a field underneath an elm tree. The sun glared down on them, rays shooting through the branches, mottling the shade. Castiel arrived just half a second after Anna and turned to see Balthazar leaning against the trunk of the tree.

"Hello, Cas. Anna. It's good to see you." Balthazar stood to full height. "I've got what you need. Just...don't tell anyone I gave this to you. I have a fairly good idea you're up to something not exactly _noble,_ if you know what I mean? Anyway-" He pulled a package out of his pocket "-here's the blade you needed."

Anna took it from his outstretched hand. "Thank you, Balthazar."

"So, why exactly _are_ you two after our dear friend Atropos, if I might ask?"

Castiel looked at Anna, unsure whether or not to tell Balthazar. She, however, took control of the situation. She reached forward and touched Balthazar's forehead. He staggered backward, blinking rapidly. "Ooooh, dear," he muttered, rubbing his forehead.

Castiel studied Balthazar's expression. Mainly, he saw confusion, but he thought he might have observed worry, too. Anna interrupted his thoughts: "Let's go, Castiel."

()

**I hope you liked this installment. Next chapter involves more Balthazar. It should be up soon.**


	7. Demon with a Plan

**DISCLAIMER: SUPERNATURAL AND ITS CHARACTERS ARE NOT MINE.**

"You called." Crowley's voice was as smooth as ever. Dean turned around. The demon's gaze was fixed upon the ceiling, where Dean had drawn the devil's trap. "You Winchesters," Crowley sighed. "The day will never come when I can trust you."

"I could say the same about you, Crowley," said Dean. "I'll let you out if you'll help me."

Crowley rolled his eyes. "Help with what? Have you finally gotten around to my proposal? By the way, where are we?"

Dean glanced at the bland walls of the warehouse. "Yeah. That's none of your business. We're somewhere quiet."

Crowley nodded. "Anyway, get to the point, will you, Dean? What do you want? Have you finally come to agree with me?"

Dean grimaced. He really had forgotten how much he hated this smug son of a bitch. He hesitated, then replied, "Yes."

Crowley grinned. "Well, then, help me out of here and I'll help you."

Dean shook his head. "No. You see, it's not going to work like that. We're not partners. I'm in charge. If you so much as _think_ otherwise, I'll stab you and figure the situation out myself."

Crowley shrugged. "Eh, pretty standard terms. What do you say, Squirrel, shall we shake on it and get me out of this damn trap?" Dean eyed his extended hand warily. After a moment of scrutiny, he decided to ignore it, and climbed a stepladder. He spraypainted over the trap, releasing Crowley.

The demon stepped out of the trap, free at last. "Ah, now, shall we get started? Do you, uh, have a motel room or somewhere nicer than this rundown warehouse? I'd like to discuss our options in the comfort of an air-conditioned room."

() () ()

"We've got two options for time travel, you see," said Crowley, sitting on the edge of the bed. "One: an Enochian blood sigil, which requires quite a lot of troublesome ingredients. However, you can go back "

"Like what?" Dean asked.

"Oh, nothing much, just your blood, an angel feather, the tears of a dragon, the power of your soul, and a pinch of the sands of time." Crowley raised an eyebrow. "I've got angel feathers, and tears of a dragon would be no problem to find, but the sands of time?" He shook his head. "That's gonna take time. The other option, of course, would be to get an angel to transport us back to the night of my colleague Azazel's little case of arson."

"An angel," Dean muttered.

"I know Castiel isn't taking calls at the moment," said Crowley. "So either we find the ingredients for the Sigil-"

"Or you find another angel," said a new but familiar voice.

Dean turned and saw Balthazar standing by the door of the motel room. "Hello, Dean. Consorting with demons, are we?"

"The name's Crowley," remarked the demon from behind Dean.

Dean frowned. "Balthazar? Why are you here?"

The angel smirked. "I'm here to help you out, Dean. You _do_ need my help, right? I know all about this little situation of yours."

"Where's Cas?" asked Dean.

"Ah, yes, Castiel. Well, you see, he's on his way to kill Fate, as it were. We need to make sure that doesn't happen."

"What? Why?" Dean asked. "I thought he wanted things the way they used to be."

Balthazar nodded. "And they should be that way. But Castiel took one look at a peaceful heaven and decided this world was better. No more war. He's always been one for peace, but that's just not the way things are supposed to be."

Dean sighed. "Great. He's gone rogue."

"Yeah, and he has help. Anna is with him. They've got a weapon that can kill Fate and they will use it, ASAP. Which is why we need to summon Fate and get her somewhere warded off from angels."

"I don't have a summoning spell for her," said Dean.

"Neither do I," Balthazar replied.

"I do," Crowley announced. He got up and stepped over to Dean and Balthazar. "We need a few little ingredients, though."

"Like what?" asked Dean.

"Well, for starters, we need Dust of Heaven."

"I can get that," said Balthazar.

"We also need the fangs of a vampire," Crowley continued.

Dean nodded. "I can handle that."

Crowley smiled. "All right, go on. I'll stay back here at home base and angelproof everything."

Dean heard Balthazar disappearing on his wings. He turned and walked out the door of the motel room, getting into the Impala. He turned the key and backed out, driving out of the parking lot.

**The next part will be up soon! Enjoy!**


	8. Oasis

**DISCLAIMER: SUPERNATURAL AND ITS CHARACTERS ARE NOT MINE.**

_Tulsa, Oklahoma_

Dean sat down at the bar and ordered a beer. While doing so, he flipped open his father's journal and leafed through it. It was familiar to him, yet unfamiliar; permanently altered by Sam's death and John Winchester's survival.

Up until last night. Dean's gut twisted as he thought of Crowley's coldhearted move. Kill John Winchester to force him back onboard with the plan. Dean tried to tell himself that he hated Crowley for that, but the anger couldn't last. He realized that it didn't really matter in the end. He'd gotten to spend another lifetime with his father, after all. Nature needed to go back to the way it was, and he needed Sam. Even if that meant he'd be thrown back into heaven's war and the strife and chaos of his old life, he knew it was right. And that was what mattered.

He took the beer he'd ordered and drank some, before going over to the door and grabbing a copy of the local paper.

Three crazy deaths in the last week, fitting the vampire M.O. Dean would take it back to his hotel and plot out possible nest locations. He'd also go over the crime scenes in his FBI suit tomorrow morning. Agent Cliff Burton would do just fine.

() () ()

Dean parked the Impala down the street and walked up to the house, where a few police officers remained, expecting his arrival.

"Thank you for coming, sir," said the lead man. "My name is Nate Foster, Homicide. You are?"

"Agent Cliff Burton," Dean lied. He flashed his badge.

"We're still wrapping up on reviewing the crime scene, but we don't have much to go on," Foster explained as he walked Dean into the house. "If there is some sort of serial killer out there, we don't have long until he strikes again."

Dean nodded. The living room was obviously the crime scene. The carpet was grievously bloodstained, and where the body had been was now taped over in an outline of the victim's position in death. "All right," Dean said. "What do you have on the victim?"

"47, black male," Foster replied. "Name Andre Parker. The others are Penny Brown and Thomas Nile. They were all attacked in their homes after a night out at the same club."

"The same club?" Dean raised an eyebrow.

"Tulsa doesn't have that many," Foster explained. "Anyway, we've been interviewing staff about it, but nothing's turned up so far."

"All right," said Dean. "I'm going to need copies of everything on the case. I'll swing by the station later to pick 'em up. Meanwhile, what's the name of that club?"

"It's called Oasis."

"Thanks." Dean took an extra look around the crime scene, but didn't find anything. He left and got into the Impala to investigate the Oasis Club.

() () ()

Dean parked the car in the nearly empty parking lot of the _Oasis_ nightclub. It was a smooth black building with only a few dark tinted windows. Silver capital letters spelled out the name of the club above the dark glass double doors.

Dean got out of the car and scanned the parking lot. Nobody around, except the owner of a crappy beige sedan. Probably a janitor.

Dean walked up to the door and knocked loudly. "Open up! Federal Agent!"

A few moments later, an unkempt young guy showed up at the door with a mop bucket. Dean flashed him his badge. "I'm Agent Burton. Here to investigate the deaths of, uh, Andre Parker, Penny Brown, and Thomas Nile."

The man nodded and unlocked the door. "Go ahead and come on in," he said. "I'm Frank Hutton."

Dean smiled and opened the door, walking into the club. "Are you the only one here, Frank?"

"Yeah," the janitor repled. "I clean up in the day while the club's closed. More of the staff come in the afternoon."

"You ever visit at night?"

Frank snorted. "Hell, yeah."

"Say, you know about the three murders that went down?"

"Yeah, I read about the first two. There's been a third?"

"Yeah. Did you know any of the victims?"

"Just one, a little bit," said Frank, scratching his nose absently. "Tom was cool. He sorta helped me out one time."

"Helped you out?"

"I had some debt troubles, and he loaned me some money. It helped-a lot. I got back on my feet and managed to pay him back."

"Oh." Dean nodded. He got the sense Frank might know a little more about Tom Nile. "Do you, uh-do you know anyone who'd want to hurt Andre, possibly more people?"

Frank shrugged, his eyes flickering around. "Not really. I don't think so. Look, I really gotta get back to work-the bathrooms are trashed after last night."

"Yeah, well, this is a bit more important than cleaning up toilets," Dean replied, a little more forcefully. He stepped forward a little too close for comfort and put a hand on his waist, brushing away his suit jacket to reveal his holstered pistol. "Let me ask you again, Frank: are you _sure_ there's nobody on your mind?"

Frank bit his lip. "Well, there's this guy-"

"What's his name?"

"Marco, okay? He's nine kinds of shady. He showed up about a month ago, and I'm pretty sure he's a dealer."

"What are we talking? Like a little weed?"

"I don't know, man. I don't do drugs anymore," said Frank. "I swear. I'm in meetings, y'know?"

Dean sighed. He was getting a bit tired of this conversation. "All right, I'm not gonna arrest you, Frank. What kind of car does he drive?"

"An 80's BMW, it's cherry red." Frank shrugged. "I don't really know cars that well."

"That's all right. Is Marco here every night?"

"Yeah, definitely." Frank nodded his head. "Every night."

"All right, that's all, you've been extremely helpful, Frank." Dean flashed him a smile and walked out the door.

() () ()

Music pounded its way into Dean's skull. A thick bass rhythm enclosed the room in a canopy of sound. Dean sat at the bar nursing a beer. He checked his watch. 9:48. Maybe Marco had arrived by now.

He left a tip and went outside. The parking lot was packed full. Dean could see why a vampire would come here. Clubs are dark and full of gullible young people with no notion of what's coming to them.

Dean spotted the car. It was a bright red 80's BMW just like Frank had said. Dean walked across the lot towards it. Something wasn't right.

As Dean stepped forward, he saw what. The windows were foggy, and the car's bad suspension was causing it to shake.

Dean groaned and moved forward. He rapped on the driver's seat window. "Put your clothes on and open up," he ordered. He shot a look to the heavens._  
><em>

The door opened in a few moments, and a young shirtless guy peered out. Dean pulled out his badge. "Burton. FBI." He peered into the darkness of the car, seeing the vague silhouette of a girl. "Could you guys get dressed and get out of the car, please."

A moment later, he had both of them out of the car. The girl looked a little young. Dean frowned and addressed the man first. "Are you Marco?"

"Uh, yeah," replied the guy. "How'd you know."

"Lucky guess." Dean turned to the girl. "How old are you?"

"Nineteen," the girl answered.

"Can I see your driver's license?"

She rolled her eyes and got her license out of her purse. Dean looked at it. "So, Stacy-eighteen in three days, huh?" Dean looked at Marco with a disapproving glance. "I could charge you with statutory rape, you know."

Marco's eyes widened. "Look-I didn't know-and anyway, what difference does three days make, huh?"

Dean sighed. "I'm not going to arrest you, Marco. That is, if you cooperate."

"Cooperate? How?"

Dean looked at Stacy. He handed back her license. "You have a car?" She nodded. "Then go home," said Dean. She nodded and walked away.

Dean turned to Marco. "I have a few questions about Penny Brown, Thomas Nile, and Andre Parker."

"What?"

"You knew Tom Nile, right?"

"Uh, yeah, a bit."

"What about Penny Brown?"

"No. Look, man, I mean-maybe? I know a lot of the people around the club, but I wouldn't kill nobody!"

Dean frowned. Marco didn't _seem _like a vampire. "Did you know Andre Parker?"

"Eh, yeah, I saw him just a few nights ago."

"He's dead," said Dean.

Marco covered his mouth. His eyes looked like they were about to pop out of his head. "Oh, my sweet Lord Jesus Christ in heaven above!" he muttered, his voice muffled by his hand. He lowered his hand. "I didn't kill anybody, man! And I didn't know that girl was seventeen, I swear!"

Dean rolled his eyes. Marco definitely was _not_ a vamp. "Hey, do you know a, uh, Frank Hutton?"

"Everybody knows Frank. Why, is he dead too?"

"What do you mean, everybody knows Frank?" Dean growled.

"He's some sorta drug dealer, I think. He came here a few weeks ago, and he's here every night, talks to everybody at the club. Y'know, looking for buyers. I don't do drugs though."

"I believe you," said Dean. He grimaced. "All right, stay out of trouble, Marco, you hear me? And be careful with the women you meet?"

"Yeah, I will," said Marco, nodding vigorously.

Dean turned and ran back into the club. He was almost certain that Frank was the vampire. _I hope he hasn't made a whole nest.__  
><em>

He got back into the club and made his way to a corner with some visibility, looking for Frank. "Come on, come on," he muttered. "You've gotta be around here somewhere." The music blared, and people sifted through the room, milling about around the floor. The perfect hunting grounds for a vampire, and also the perfect hiding spot: a crowd.

Dean waded into the fray of half-drunk partygoers, searching for the vamp. He looked toward each corner of the room and then to the exits.

He saw something. To the left. He turned and looked.

Frank was going out one of the back exits with a girl. "Son of a bitch," Dean groaned.


	9. The Spell

Dean rushed out behind the club. The backdoor slammed behind him. He saw no one. "God damn it," he growled. He took a step forward, then tumbled to the ground. Someone was on his back, clawing at him, turning him over.

The vampire bared its fangs and lunged down at his throat. Dean thrust his machete up simultaneously, slicing the monster's head clean off its shoulders. The body slumped over, spurting a fountain of blood. The head smacked down on the pavement beside Dean's face.

Dean grabbed the head and hightailed it. He jogged across the parking lot, looking warily around for witnesses. He did not want to be seen like this. Blood drenched his jacket from his encounter with the vampire, and the severed head dangled from his left hand, still dripping.

Dean grabbed a rag from the trunk, wrapped the head in it, and tossed it in. As he drove away, he dialed Crowley. "I ganked the bloodsucker for you. Driving back to you now."

_"Knew I could count on you, Dean. Winchesters are always good to have around."_

"Hey, Crowley, why'd you want to set things right anyway? I thought Cas burned your bones. You're dead."

_"Well, what can I say, maybe they were the wrong bones." _Dean could feel the demon smirking as he said it.

Dean snorted. "Well, when we get back, you're next on my to-do list."

_"You Winchesters are quite hilarious, aren't you? What makes you think I give a damn? Even if you remember this whole alternate reality when we get back (which I doubt), how are you going to find me?"_

Dean frowned. "I'll figure something out." He hung up.

()()()()()()()()()()()()

()()()()()()()()()()()()

Crowley's warehouse was one he particularly liked to use. It was completely warded in Enochian, completely with traps that could hold just about any creature in existence. It even had a demonproof room, just in case he had to deal with any enemies of his own kind. He liked this setup. Good thing Squirrel wouldn't remember any of this in the real world. Crowley didn't want to have to ditch this dump.

Crowley stood in black attire over an array of glowing candles, pouring Dust of Heaven into a bowl. He heard the door slam as Dean Winchester entered the scene. Crowley turned to greet him. "Hello, boy!" he said. He gave the grim chap a cheerful grin. Just what Dean Winchester needed. Happiness is food for the soul, after all.

"Here's your damn fangs," Dean grunted, lobbing an entire severed head onto Crowley's messy table of ingredients.

"Jiminy cricket, Dean, you couldn't have popped the teeth out first? Do I have to do everything around here?"

"Hey, I ganked the bastard. You oughta be thanking me."

Crowley frowned at that but let the argument slide. With a snap of his fingers, he set fire to the head, leaving nothing left but the fangs and a pile of ash. He plucked up the ingredients, crushed them in his hand, and added them to the powder in his bowl.

Dean came up in front of his table and looked him in the eyes. "So where's Balthazar?" he asked.

"Heaven, Canada, Tahiti, take your pick," said Crowley with a judgmental shrug. "This building's warded from angels." He looked up at Dean. "Well, don't just stand around, start making symbols." He shoved a piece of parchment into Dean's hands. "Copy those designs at the four corners of the warehouse. Go on."

Dean glared at him, but did as he was told. That was the thing with Winchesters: easier to control than dogs.

Once Dean finished the runes, Crowley mixed all the ingredients. Dean walked back to the table. Crowley sighed. "Give me your arm."

Dean's eyebrows knit tightly as his low-powered brain tried to compute the sentence. "What?"

"Gimme your arm, you bumbling jackass. You want Fate, or not?"

Dean rolled up his sleeve and extended his arm. Crowley sliced into the skin with his knife, watching the blood drip down into the bowl.

Crowley started to recite the incantation. "Un Gisg Don Med Mals Med Fam. _Advoco ad meum Atropos Fortunam. Advoco ad meum Atropos Fortunam. Advoco ad meum Atropos Fortunam. Sequor et potior te. Astringo te. Ad me venire. Advoco ad meum Atropos Fortunam. Advoco ad meum Atropos Fortunam. Advoco ad meum Atropos Fortunam._ Un Gisg Med Mals Med Fam."

Crowley ignited the ingredients, watching them flare up in a plume of blue fire.

Dean raised an eyebrow. "All that work to summon Fate?"

"Well, yeah, Dean, if I could do it with a snap of the fingers, I'd have done it by now." Crowley walked out into the middle of the room.

Fate appeared. "What is it that you want?"

Crowley smiled. "Name's Crowley. Pleasure, et cetera. And this is Dean Winchester. You may have heard of us."

Fate let out a deep, exasperated sigh. Crowley raised a hand. "Wait, wait, wait, before you go delivering judgment, we need to state our intentions. We don't want to kill you, surprising as that may be. We just want to set things right."

"Why do you need my help?"

"We don't. We've got a way back to where we need to go. But we're placing you in witness protection."

"It was his idea," remarked Dean. Crowley shot him a disapproving glance.

"Look," said Crowley, "let me cut to the chase. Castiel, that angel you stirred up with your revelation? He doesn't want to put the natural order back in place. He wants to kill you and keep the universe the way it is. This warehouse is warded against angels."

"You summoned me for my _protection?"_ scoffed Fate.

"Yes," said Crowley. "And you can't leave anyway. The runes in the corners won't release you from here. So really it's quite easy. Just sit back and relax. I'll get you a magazine if you want."


	10. 1983 Part I

**Supernatural and its characters belong to The CW. I am not publishing this for monetary profit. Enjoy.**

9:00 a.m., November 1, 1983  
>Lawrence, Kansas<p>

Dean Winchester ended up in an alley, both feet squishing into two black trash bags. "Ugh." He stepped onto dry ground and looked around. He didn't see Crowley anywhere.

"Up here, Dean," called Crowley. Dean looked up and saw the demon standing on the rooftop of the one story brick building beside him. Crowley waved hi and teleported down to ground level. "Well, that was about as fun as a weasel necktie," Crowley muttered.

"What do you mean?" Dean frowned. "It was painless. We just ended up here."

"Yeah, painless for you, kid." Crowley grimaced. "My soul is not at 100% capacity. Moving it through time takes a lot more work-and pain."

Dean nodded. "Huh. Interesting." It looked like Crowley was about to hurl. His face was as pale as a sheet, and he stood hunched over as if he could vomit at any moment. He promptly did, upchucking a pile of sulfur into the alley.

"Jeez." Dean covered his nose and walked out of the alley and onto the sidewalk. Crowley gave him the stink eye to go along with the fresh stench of rotten eggs. Dean looked around the street. It wasn't busy at this time of day, when most people would be at work. A truck or two rumbled by, but nothing more.

Crowley looked around as if enraptured by a wondrous sight. He spoke. "Well. Happy National Novel Writing Month, Dean."

"What?" Dean followed the demon down the sidewalk and watched as he grabbed a newspaper out of a bin. Crowley unfolded it and started reading the headlines. Dean rolled his eyes. "Hey. Crowley. Let's get a move on. We've got to find my parents."

"Oh, shut up, Dean, I'm reading." Dean shifted and raised an eyebrow. Crowley looked up at him. "Unlike you, I don't usually get the chance to travel back to the glory days."

"What do you mean, the glory days?" Dean asked. "Have you seen what people wear in the 1980's? Not to mention that this is the decade that music went to crap."

"What are you blabbering on about, Dean?" Crowley looked up at him with an expression of disdain. "You ever heard of Prince? Madonna?"

Dean stared at Crowley with newfound horror. "What the hell, man? Your music taste is awful, okay?"

"It is not awful. I'm just not afraid to like popular music. You're just a hipster, Dean, plain and simple."

Dean blinked. "A hipster. Riiight."

"It's true, Dean, you're just a poor excuse for a hipster, and that's all."

Dean grit his teeth and looked away, raising a hand to his forehead. "Can we just get going?" he asked.

"We've got the whole day," Crowley answered. "There's no hurry. Want to go to a concert, watch The Return of the Jedi?"

Dean sighed. "Let's just save Sammy so I can get back to my damn life."

"All right," said Crowley. "You asked for it. Let's hitch a ride."

"What, you can't teleport?" Dean raised an eyebrow.

"Not really. I just got blown back 30 years by an angel." Crowley grimaced.

Dean shrugged. "All right then." He wrung his hands. What if it all turned out badly in the end? It was him and wannabe Lucifer going up against Azazel and an archangel. _It sure would be nice to have Sam backing me up on this one,_ he thought.

**()()()**

When he saw the house, whole like it had been, not yet burnt down, Dean could only think bad thoughts. He and Crowley were across the street in a piece-of-crap Volkswagen they'd rented a few hours earlier, eating chili cheese fries and waiting for disaster to strike. Dean felt like he couldn't keep still, but he forced himself to sit and wait. _I'm going to have to watch as Mom burns on the ceiling,_ he thought. _Son of a bitch, I can't do this. I can't handle this._

He shifted in his seat and looked over at Crowley. "What time is it?"

"7:30," the demon responded. "We've got a while longer to wait."

Dean sighed and rubbed his eyes. "I hate this so friggin' much."

Crowley nodded. "I would say I feel your pain, if I wasn't the King of Hell."


	11. Ghostfacers!

**Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural or any of its characters.**

**P.S. Before reading this chapter, go watch The Ghostfacers Meet Castiel on Youtube if you haven't already.**

Castiel landed in a parking lot in Missouri with a beat of his dark wings. His coat flapped as he arrived, and the wind scattered a paper cup lying on the ground. He strode forward, clutching a blade in his left hand as he walked toward a graffiti-covered warehouse that had been abandoned long ago. As he walked, Anna arrived behind him. "Is this the place?" she asked.

"This building is heavily warded in Enochian," Castiel said. "This is likely the place where Fate is being held."

"Great, so how do we get in?"

"We can't." Castiel turned back. "We need someone else to go in for us."

"Like whom, Castiel?"

Castiel frowned. "Perhaps I know some people who could help."

**()()()**

Ed Zeddmore leaned back in his chair, watching the footage of himself and Harry Spangler creeping through the darkness of a haunted house. "You know, this one's really, uh, really tense, even though we didn't actually catch anything on camera," he remarked.

"Yeah," Harry replied, plopping down in the chair next to him with a can of Coke. "I don't know, I like it. It shouldn't be, like, the pilot episode or anything, but it's definitely good for filler."

"Yeah." Ed rubbed his beard and scribbled a note with his pen in his custom leatherbound Ghostfacers notebook. "This one's looking good. But the editing is not the best ever. Who edited this one? Gary?"

"Uh, yeah," Harry said, nodding. "I'll give it to Ashley and see what she can do with it."

"Yeah, good idea." Ed got out of his chair and bumped into a trench coat.

"Whoa! Jesus, who are you?!" He looked up at the man in front of him, a dark-haired guy in a trenchcoat. "How'd you get in?"

"I need your assistance," the man replied.

"What the hell?" Harry exclaimed.

Ed shook his head. "Dude, you broke in here! Get out now or I'm calling the cops!"

"Yeah!" Harry echoed, brandishing his phone. "Get outta here, creepazoid."

The man rolled his eyes and reached out, touching both of their chests. In an instant, Ed was not there anymore. He looked around and yelled, "What's going on? Why am I in a parking lot?"

"I am an angel of the Lord," the man said.

"Okay, okay! Jesus, what do you want with us?" Harry shouted.

"I need you to take these cans of spray paint," the angel said, "and go in there and spray over the sigils painted on the floor and walls."

"Uh, what?" Ed grabbed a spray can. "Oh-kaaay, just don't kill us please?"

**()()()**

Castiel waited outside, growing more and more impatient. "What is taking those two so long?"

Anna replied, "Perhaps it is the fact that they do not know you and are very bewildered."

"I knew them in the other universe. They were...disappointing, but willing to believe in the supernatural."

Anna nodded slowly. "Disappointing. Yes, I can understand that."

The door of the warehouse opened. Castiel turned to see the two pale-faced men exiting the building. "We, uh, we finished painting," the bearded one said. "Are you-can you let us-let us go now?"

Castiel walked briskly forward and touched them, sending them back to their home. He turned to Anna. "Let's go in."


	12. The Execution

**Disclaimer: I own none of these characters nor is Supernatural my intellectual property. I write this for fun.**

Castiel stepped into the unwarded warehouse, looking around the open space. His eyes came to rest on the thin figure of Fate, who stood in the midst of the room.

"Hello, Castiel," she said. "I was warned that you were going to kill me."

Castiel stepped forward slowly, keeping the blade behind his back. He noted that Fate was bound within an Enochian pentagram, her ability to flee disabled. "If I kill you, the world will continue on its current path," he said.

Fate sighed. "You're making a mistake."

"No. No more angels will die for the cause of the apocalypse. The world is better this way."

"Already, more than three thousand have died because of Sam Winchester's death in 1983. The collateral damage is huge and will only continue to grow. It's a snowball rolling downhill, Castiel. Soon, because of your petty cause, millions will be dead on earth." Fate shook her head. "If you still think it's right, you can go ahead and stab me with that toothpick and call it justice, but the fact is that it's not and you know it."

"You're wrong." Thunder clapped outside, and Castiel let his true form shine through like a beacon of light from his eyes. His wings flapped behind him and he raised the blade. "You have to die."

Fate set her jaw. "Castiel, you are misguided," she said, a tinge of desperation forming in her voice. "This is not the way it is supposed to be."

"And who dictates that? God?" Castiel scoffed. "I watched the other angels in my garrison die in Hell while we waged war to rescue Dean Winchester. I watched Uriel betray me, and Zachariah trick me. My brother Michael fell into the depths of Hell with Lucifer himself. The apocalypse nearly rent this world in two, and for what? Heaven was nearly destroyed by the chaos. The angels fell into anarchy and disarray. I must kill you. It is the right thing to do." He walked forward, preparing to swing the blade into Fate's flesh. She cowered as he let the knife fall.

Metal clanged against metal. Balthazar appeared in front of Castiel, blocking the knife with his angelic blade. "Not so fast, brother," he grunted, pushing back his strike.

Castiel retaliated in fury, lashing out with an angry blow. Balthazar sidestepped and destroyed the pentagram with a wave of his hand. "Anna!" Castiel called.

The angel appeared behind Fate and grabbed her before she could escape. Balthazar lunged at Castiel, slicing his arm with his weapon. Castiel reeled back. "Balthazar, I will kill you if you do not stop," he growled.

"So be it," replied his brother. "I'm doing the right thing."

Castiel saw Fate squirming out of Anna's grip. He pulled his angel blade out of his coat in his left hand and threw the Fate blade toward Anna while blocking Balthazar's next swipe. "Kill her!" he shouted, turning to deal with Balthazar. But the next thing he heard was Anna's hoarse scream; he turned and stared in shock as Fate plunged the heavenly blade into Anna's heart.

Anna's eyes blazed white and burned as she fell to the ground, the outline of her wings imprinted on the floor of the warehouse. "No!" Castiel shouted. But before he could run toward Fate, Balthazar snatched him up in a vise grip, with a blade to his throat.

"It's over, Castiel," he said.


	13. 1983 Part II

**Disclaimer: Supernatural and its characters are not my intellectual property.**

Dean cracked his knuckles. He knew it was a bad habit, but he couldn't help but do it when he got nervous. This was maybe the most nervous he'd been his whole life. It was pitch black outside, and he'd been staring into the house he'd lived in as a boy for the past nine hours. He still remembered this place from his childhood, but it was nerve-wracking to be here in person as an adult. This was the house before it had burnt down. His own mother still lived and breathed within that house across the street.

Crowley sighed. "All right, you can stop moping. We need to get in there. Can you pick the lock?"

"Yeah." Dean grimaced but nodded anyway. "Let's just get this over with." He opened the door and got out of the car, jogging across the street and up to the front porch of the house. Crowley followed right behind him.

Dean leaned down to pick the lock but stopped when he felt Crowley tap his shoulder.

"Squirrel," the demon whispered. Crowley pointed over to the side.

Dean looked where Crowley pointed and saw a figure in the shadows beside the house, watching. _Raphael._ Crowley handed Dean an angel blade. "You get him," he whispered. "I'll break in and stop Azazel."

Dean nodded and backed into the shadows, deciding to go around from the other side so that Raphael didn't see him coming. He crept around the back, hopping the fence to get the angle on Raphael. He stayed in the shadows, approaching Raphael as quietly as he could.

"Hello, Dean." Raphael turned and knocked the blade out of his hand with a swift hit. Dean ducked the next blow and backed away.

"Damn it." He eyed the blade, which glimmered with reflected moonlight in the grass, but Raphael's next attack forced him back farther away from it. He kept dodging as long as he could, but soon enough, an iron blow knocked him to the ground. Raphael towered over him like a dark colossus. "Now you die," he growled. Dean tried to get up, but another punch pushed him down again. Raphael drew his blade.

Another silhouette appeared behind Raphael, and a hand shot out, wrestling the blade from the archangel's grasp. "Go to hell," Castiel bellowed, stabbing him with his own angelic weapon.

"Cas..." Dean slowly got to his feet. "You changed your mind?"

"I was...wrong." Castiel looked down at his feet.

Dean smiled and grabbed him in a bear hug. "You're the best, Cas." Then he remembered. "Oh, son of a bitch. Azazel." He raced up to the door and kicked it in. He saw his father, running up the stairs, illuminated in the bright firelight. "Damn it. Sammy!" Dean sprinted up the stairs, but Castiel caught up to him. "Wait, Dean."

"Like hell!" Dean whispered.

"Look." Castiel pointed up the stairs.

"Take your brother outside as fast as you can!" John yelled. Dean was taken aback with shock. He saw himself, a toddler, holding Sam in his arms and running down the stairs.

Castiel pulled him back into the shadows, and he stared as he carried Sammy out the open front door while his mother burned above. John followed, so frightened and heartbroken, a man who would crack under the pressure of what he had just witnessed. Dean watched as his worst nightmare played out again in front of his very eyes.

Then, descending from the fire upstairs came Crowley, with singed clothes and tousled hair. "Everything's going to be fine," the demon said, smiling. "It all happened according to plan."

Then, the scene vanished before Dean's eyes, fading like a dream, and he woke alone in a motel bedroom, staring at the water-stained ceiling.


	14. Epilogue

**Disclaimer: Supernatural and all of its characters are not my intellectual property. Enjoy the last chapter of my first fanfic.**

Dean sat up in his bed in a motel room. He looked around but to his chagrin did not see Sam. "Sam?" He sprung to his feet and checked the bathroom. His brother wasn't there. He raced outside and looked around the parking lot. "Sammy?" he called. Where the hell was Sam?

_Is he gone forever? Did we not save him after all? _Dean looked frantically back into the empty room. "Sammy!" he called.

He heard the familiar rumble of an engine, and turned back to the parking lot to see the Impala pulling up to the curb. Sam parked and got out of the car, with breakfast biscuits in a bag tucked underneath his arm. "Hey, Dean. Surprised you're up already," he said.

Dean rushed forward and embraced his brother. He didn't even care about Sam's confused reaction.

"Uh, Dean, you all right?"

"Better than ever," he replied, letting go of Sam's broad shoulders. "It's nice to see you again."

"Okay, Dean." Sam eyed him suspiciously. "Wait a second, did you have a Trickster thing going on, or something? Like the neverending Tuesdays?"

Dean laughed. "No, no. Just a-just a bad dream, that's all."

"Okay. Well, let's eat, okay?"

"Yeah. Great. Let's eat."

**()()()**

"Cas. I pray that you get down here." Dean stood in the parking lot, unbeknownst to his brother, who was inside the room.

"Yes, Dean?"

Dean turned and saw the angel standing beside the car. "Hey, Cas. How are you?"

"I'm fine, Dean. Did you need something? I have a war in heaven to get back to."

"It's just-you remember, right?" Dean asked.

"Remember?" The angel frowned. "Remember what?"

"The alternate reality thing, the whole shebang?"

"Oh. That. Yes. I remember."

"Well, I guess I just wanted to say, thanks. For not being a dick in the end."

"Of course."

Dean looked down nervously at his shoes. "And, uh, Cas...one last thing before you go."

"Yes?" Dean stared at the angel's face. How could he say what he wanted to say? He felt so stupid. Cas wouldn't understand anyway.

"Yes, Dean? What is it?" Castiel asked.

_I love you,_ Dean thought. _Just say it._ But he couldn't. "Ah, nevermind."

"Okay." Castiel nodded and with a flutter of wings he disappeared.

Dean turned and walked back into the hotel with a heavy sigh.


End file.
